


Brahms Lullaby

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lullabies, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Jaskier notices the familiar weight upon his chest, even before he’s fully conscious. It’s not often that he wakes to find Geralt cuddled up to his chest, especially in such an… intimate and vulnerable position, and he can’t quite tamp down the tendrils of concern that twist and curl in his belly as he listens to the soft, near-unintelligible words that spill over his Witcher’s lips as the perpetual crease in his brow grows ever-deeper and his grip on Jaskier’s nightclothes that much tighter.AKAThat time Geraltdefinitelydidn't have a nightmare.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 890
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY





	Brahms Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell is this? Not what I intended to write, that's what :) I hope you like it anyway!

Jaskier notices the familiar weight upon his chest, even before he’s fully conscious. It’s not often that he wakes to find Geralt cuddled up to his chest, especially in such an… intimate and vulnerable position, and he can’t quite tamp down the tendrils of concern that twist and curl in his belly as he listens to the soft, near-unintelligible words that spill over his Witcher’s lips as the perpetual crease in his brow grows ever-deeper and his grip on Jaskier’s nightclothes that much tighter. 

“Geralt,” he tries to keep his voice steady as he drags the very tips of his fingers over Geralt’s cheek in a feather-light caress, “Geralt, are you — _ ouch _ !” Jaskier’s blue eyes widened, “D-Did you just  _ bite _ my  _ finger _ ?”

“Hmm,” Geralt’s amber eyes flutter. He presses a kiss to the smarting digit before Jaskier can work himself into a proper tizzy. “It’s early yet. Go back to sleep.” Okay, now he  _ knows _ something is wrong. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Jaskier eyes his companion uncertainly. Geralt  _ looks _ fine—a few bruises here and there, but nothing so serious as to turn Jaskier’s blood to ice (like that time he’d discovered the small ‘scratch’ on the Witcher’s forearm that had become infected after he’d stitched himself back together without properly anesthetizing the area first).

Geralt tenses, looking ready to immediately dismiss Jaskier’s concerns. And then he just kind of…  _ deflates,  _ and admits in an incredibly small voice, “No.”

The bard blinks, “No?” He checks him over once again, just to make sure there isn’t some seemingly minor injury that could be bothering his companion, and once again determines the Witcher to be in one piece. Reasoning that his distress could have been a result of his night terror, Jaskier tries, “Do you… Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” He says, and Jaskier, for once, finds himself at a loss for what to say.

Several seconds pass in a not-quite awkward silence before Geralt begins to shift. At first, Jaskier thinks he’s about to go against his own advice and leave the bedroll to begin to prepare for the long day of travel ahead… but the Witcher makes no move to tear himself from the warmth of Jaskier’s arms. Instead, he slides downward, accounting for the significant difference in their size, to rest his head of tousled silver-white locks atop the bard’s chest, directly over his heart. Jaskier is entirely unprepared for the way his chest seizes with a warm fondness as calloused fingers twine in the well-worn material of his bedclothes and a thick thigh worms its way between his own.

This is not the first nightmare that he’s born witness to, and he’s knows that it will not be the last. But this  _ is _ the first time that Geralt has confided in him—well, as close to  _ confided _ as a man like Geralt could come. Fuck, he wants to hold him, to cuddle him  _ properly _ . He wonders, idly, just how much affection Geralt would allow. As if sensing his inner turmoil, the Witcher clears his throat loudly, amber eyes narrowed pointedly at Jaskier’s free arm. With a snort, the bard brings his arm around the back of Geralt’s neck, pleasantly surprised to find that he could reach across the span of those broad shoulders quite comfortably.  _ Yes… that’s very nice… _

He hums softly as he plays with silken strands of silver-white hair and focuses on the soft  _ in-out-in-out _ of Geralt’s breath. ...He has enough coin to postpone their travels for another night. If the dark circles around Geralt’s eyes were any indication, he’d been having trouble sleeping for most of the night, and he deserved a chance to have a proper rest. Once he’d rested, Jaskier would call for fresh water and fix him a bath with lemongrass and neroli… oh, and maybe a hot cup of tea while he’s at it! Peppermint worked  _ wonders _ on frazzled nerves, and he was sure that he’d purchased some from a vendor in the last town they’d traveled through…

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier’s hand freezes, tangling in his messy silver-white locks. “And besides… I can  _ feel _ you staring at me and it’s… strange. Stop it.” He demands, sounding every bit like a petulant child. Jaskier laughs and bends to kiss the crown of his head.

“...I’m sorry. I have this nasty little habit of admiring beautiful things.” He murmurs, “Your eyes, your hair, your  _ body _ … even the most prolific and oratorical bard would not be able to do you justice.” 

“...Mmm… I suppose that means that I’m stuck listening to  _ Toss a Coin to Your Witcher _ for the rest of my days, then.” The familiar sarcasm is tinged with a bone-deep exhaustion that makes Jaskier’s heart hurt. He wishes there is something more he could do for him… holding him here, like this, hardly seems like enough.

“Bah,” he tries to smile, even though he knows Geralt isn’t looking, “I’ve written many an ode to your shapely arse. You just won’t let me sing them in polite company.” 

Silence. Then, “Jaskier… sing for me.”

The bard actually  _ chokes _ , “Are you… Are you  _ dying _ on me right now, Geralt?”

“Maybe.” The Witcher responds dryly. If this is his attempt at humor, Jaskier wants to tell him that its fallen  _ horribly _ flat.

Hazy amber eyes flicker up to meet blue, and for the first time in quite awhile… Jaskier sees a real fear reflected there. A question lingers on the tip of his tongue, a desire budding within him to ask about this dream that has Geralt so frazzled. He had not seen the other look so terribly distraught since Jaskier had first confessed his feelings for the Witcher, and… Jaskier blinks, eyes widening as realization dawns upon him. Tears burn in the corners of his eyes as he drags the calloused tips of his fingers over the scruff that dots across Geralt’s chin and lets the Witcher listen to the steady  _ tha-thump, tha-thump  _ of his heart for as long as it takes.

“What would you have me sing?” He asks after another long stretch of silence.

“Anything.” Geralt answers almost immediately, then hurries to amend, “Anything that’s not  _ Toss a Coin to Your Witcher _ , that is. Just… something…  _ soothing _ ?” 

Jaskier nods, “Soothing. Right.” Clearing his throat, he begins, “Lullaby… and goodnight… with roses bedight… With lilies o’er spread… is Geralt’s bed… Lay thee down… now and rest… may thy slumber be blest… Lay thee down… now and rest—,”

He’s interrupted by a loud, oddly content snore… and he can’t help but smile. 


End file.
